All the hullabaloo over LeBron James’ decision to join the Miami Heat has focused, in my mind, on the heartless and tone-deaf way the decision (or I should say “The Decision”) was presented. Whether James intended to or not, presenting his free agency decision as a 1 hour special on ESPN seemed designed to ensure that a) everyone in Cleveland would hate him as much as humanly possible, and b) the rest of the sports-watching country’s opinion of him would plummet. After all, the last thing anyone in Cleveland wanted was for LeBron to leave the Cavaliers, but it absolutely made it worse when that breakup is broadcast on ESPN for a complete hour. And for those of us with nothing to win or lose from the decision, LeBron putting on a 1 hour special about himself wherein he referred to himself in the 3rd person multiple times does not give us much reason to doubt his ego.
Regardless, the only thing it really crystalized for me was the ability, or inability, of athletes to see just how much they mean to the people they play for. LeBron James grew up in Ohio and was drafted by the Cavaliers, two ingredients that make for an incredible love between a city and an athlete. He left. Dwayne Wade is loved in Miami nearly as much as James was in Cleveland. He stayed. The fact is that sometimes they break your heart, and sometimes they don’t.
I was listening to Bill Simmons’ The B.S. Report Podcast with Miami commentator Dan LeBatard, and they brought up a decent point: athletes don’t think the way fans do. We assume that because we feel the love and loyalty to our fans and our favorite players that they will be reciprocated (not like that). But they don’t think like us, and we can’t understand their reasoning. We attribute values like “loyalty” and “home town love” to them when they do decide to stick with our favorite teams, but the real reasoning is probably something along the lines of “money”, “$$$$$”, “state income tax laws” and “$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$”.
Why am I rambling on about this? Because these situations are fast approaching for my beloved San Francisco Giants. I’d like to believe that Tim Lincecum (or farther down the line, Buster Posey) is more Dwayne Wade and the Twins’ Joe Mauer than he is LeBron James. I’d like to believe that his status in the city of San Francisco will be enough for him to take a drastic pay cut to stay with the Giants compared to a team like the Yankees. But how do I know? Maybe the cheers we shower on him every 5th day don’t mean anything next to the gajillion figure salary the Mets will give him in a few years.
I hope not, but you never know. I would bet that Lincecum doesn’t go on national television to break up with the Giants, but if he wins another couple Cy Youngs everything is off the table.
Go Giants!